Whistler's Hollow

by Debbie Dadey

  Contents

  1 The End

  2 Uncle Dallas

  3 Aunt Esther

  4 School

  5 Mending

  6 School

  7 Music

  8 Paul

  9 Violin

  10 Black Car

  11 Empty

  12 The Box

  13 Telegram

  14 Whistle

  15 Home

  To my grandmother

  Lillie Mae Bailey

  1

  The End

  Daddy had names for people like Aunt Helen, but he never said them around Mama. So it wasn’t surprising when Aunt Helen got rid of me as fast as she could after Mama died. Aunt Helen took me to the train depot and rubbed a dirty spot off my cheek with her white gloves. People rushed around us on the platform, but I felt like I was in a foggy dream. I guess the fog was the black belching smoke of the coal-burning train, but maybe it was the shock of being sent all by myself across Kentucky on my very first train ride.

  “Lillie Mae, you be a good girl when you get to your uncle Dallas,” Aunt Helen told me with a sniff. “You’re eleven years old and you can be a big help to him and Esther. You go on now.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, hesitating before I walked up the steep train steps. “If you hear from Daddy, please tell him where I am.”

  Aunt Helen pressed her lips together in a frown. “Lillie Mae, that is not going to happen. You need to get that through your head.”

  “But…” I begged. Aunt Helen said Daddy was killed in the war, but I didn’t believe her. After all, my old friend Melissa K. Reynolds had gotten a telegram when her brother Fred was killed. We never got one, so I knew my daddy was alive. Peace had been declared over a year ago, so I knew Daddy would be back home soon and he’d be looking for me.

  “Good-bye,” Aunt Helen said, shoving me toward the steps.

  Inside the train I felt the stiffness of the green velour seat through my cotton dress. People of all sizes and shapes sat around me. I bit my lip and wondered if Aunt Helen would tell Daddy where I was. I sat up straight and knew he’d find me, no matter what. Daddy could charm the socks off a dead man; that’s what Mama had always said. He could certainly get Aunt Helen to tell him where I was.

  A big lady sat next to me with a blue hatbox and newspaper on her lap. She nodded to me and started reading the newspaper. It was dated September 30, 1920. The Courier-Journal’s headlines blasted about hard times in baseball: “1920 Series Fixed.”

  I knew about hard times. My insides felt numb from everything that had happened this last week. Losing Mama didn’t seem real. How could she be gone?

  Things had changed so quickly. On Monday I had gone to school in the morning. By that afternoon Mama was dead, killed in an accident at the factory where she worked. Aunt Helen took everything out of our apartment, including me. Aunt Helen was Mama’s sister, but that didn’t keep Aunt Helen from selling nearly everything from our apartment. The things she couldn’t sell she stuffed in a box in her attic. “I need the money to pay the funeral expenses,” Aunt Helen had said. “I’ve never had a husband to pay my way, you know.”

  I nodded. Daddy had always said that no man could stand Aunt Helen for more than fifteen minutes at a time. I guess that’s why Aunt Helen never thought too much of Daddy And since I was partly my daddy, Aunt Helen didn’t think too much of me either. After living at her house just one week, she put me on the nine o’clock westbound for Henderson, Kentucky.

  Through the train window I saw Aunt Helen hand the conductor a cardboard suitcase tied together with a cord. Then the black smoke churned around her and she disappeared from sight. You’d think she would at least wave to her only niece, but she left without even a nod toward me. I wondered what had happened to Mama’s tan leather suitcase. Either kept or sold by Aunt Helen like everything else, I figured. Because of her I didn’t have anything to remind me of Mama, except the one thing I’d taken.

  Daddy had given Mama a little glass bluebird the color of the sky. Mama kept it on her bedroom windowsill. I liked to look at it, although I had never touched it for fear of breaking it. Mama always said that a bluebird on your windowsill meant good luck. I guessed Aunt Helen believed it too. That morning before we’d left for the train station, I’d seen the bluebird on Aunt Helen’s windowsill and without asking, I’d taken it and hidden it in my dress pocket. It felt cool and calming, a reminder of Mama.

  The train headed toward relatives I’d never met before. It had taken Aunt Helen three days even to remember about them and another four days to find out if they were still alive. Uncle Dallas was my daddy’s uncle, my great-uncle. Daddy had spent his teenage years helping on the farm after his parents had died. When he’d talked about it, Daddy had made the farm sound like a magical place, but he hadn’t seen it for many years. We’d never had the money to travel across the state to visit.

  The train lurched into the countryside with a loud blast of steam. I lay my forehead on the dusty window and stared for a long time. We rumbled past a family sitting on a grassy hill sharing a picnic lunch. A family—I knew I would never have that feeling of belonging again. My teacher, Mrs. Comer, had read us a book about a magic lamp and getting wishes. If I could have a wish, it would be to have my family back again, back in our own apartment with our own things.

  I wondered what had happened to the Raggedy Ann doll Daddy had bought me before he’d left to fight in the war. I’d slept with it every single night since then. At least, I had until the week before, when Aunt Helen had taken everything away. Anger bubbled inside me. How I hated Aunt Helen. It seemed like she’d taken away my entire life. She’d be sorry when Daddy came home and found out what she’d done. Still, I wished I had my doll to hold and I wished Aunt Helen hadn’t sent me away.

  Late season flies buzzed around in the stuffy train. I even swatted at a curious bee. Behind me someone opened a package of bologna. It smelled so good, I wished I could have a bite. I hadn’t had breakfast, and Aunt Helen hadn’t given me anything to eat on the train. She’d said it would be better not to eat so I wouldn’t have to go to the privy. “Don’t go getting off the train until the conductor says you’re in Henderson,” she said. “If you get lost, there’ll be no one to look for you.”

  When the train finally stopped in Henderson, I couldn’t see anything outside the window—only darkness.

  “Henderson, ahead of schedule!” the conductor shouted. I hesitated. What if nobody was out there in the night to meet me? How would I know Uncle Dallas and Aunt Esther? I’d never even seen a picture of them. What if I went home with the wrong person? What if a murderer lurked in the shadows?

  The burly conductor looked over his shoulder and yelled again, “Henderson!”

  I gulped and walked down the aisle to the front of the train car. A little old lady with crooked teeth smiled at me. Her smile gave me enough courage to grab my cardboard suitcase. My other hand clung to the bluebird in my pocket. I walked down the train steps into the dark, cool night. The train pulled away, leaving me in a cloud of black smoke and very much alone.

  2

  Uncle Dallas

  There was no one stirring near the train station in the town of Henderson. No one. Across from the station a pond glistened in the moonlight. Everything was so still, I could hear bullfrogs croaking on the banks.

  After a few minutes I heard a loud noise and a big shiny black car drove by. Maybe Uncle Dallas was rich and I wouldn’t have to worry about money for food or trying to pay bills like Mama had. The big black car slowed down. My heart pounded, but the car went on.

  I sat on the wooden bench outside the closed depot with what my daddy called a stiff upper lip. I thought about going behind a bush to relieve myself, but the s
hadows looked like they would grab me up. A dog howled in the distance and crickets hummed all around. After about five minutes of sitting in the dark, my lips started trembling and tears welled in my eyes.

  What if nobody came? Why had Aunt Helen sent me so far away? Couldn’t I have stayed at her house and polished her mahogany furniture? After all, it was the house her parents—my grandparents—had left her. Surely they would have wanted me to live there too. I wouldn’t have eaten that much. I could have cooked and cleaned for her. I’d done it a lot ever since Mama had started working at the factory. Mama. What would Mama think to see me out so late so far from home? She wouldn’t even let me go down to the corner store after five o’clock for fear of ruffians. We’d stayed home at night. Mama would read or sew while I did my studies. Sometimes Mama was so tired from the factory, she’d fall asleep on the settee. I’d take away her book or sewing and put a quilt over her. Sometimes I’d snuggle beside her and we’d sleep together.

  I held my glass bluebird tight when a big black crow landed on the depot sign, not more than five feet away from me. It stared at me with shining black eyes, and it looked as lonely as I felt. Somehow, with the bird there I didn’t feel quite so alone. I wiped my tears. “I guess it’s just you and me,” I said, which was a funny thing to say to a bird. My mama used to say it to me all the time after Daddy went off to the war.

  That was when a horse and wagon rumbled up. The tallest man I’d ever seen popped off the seat and leaped down beside me. He swept off his straw hat, revealing a patch of white hair. He bowed before me and asked, “Do I have the pleasure of meeting Miss Lillie Mae Worth?”

  I had to giggle at the sight of this skinny, old man bowing down before me. His faded Blue Buckle overalls stretched at the shoulders as he bent down. He wore a clean blue shirt and his hands were rough, like a farmer’s. That was fine with me. Daddy always said that farm work was honest work.

  I curtsied as Aunt Helen had told me to and said, “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Lillie Mae.”

  “I’m your uncle Dallas, and I’m mighty pleased to meet you.” He grabbed me in a bear hug and held me tight. He smelled freshly scrubbed of lye soap. Funny thing was, I didn’t mind this strange man hugging me. It’d been a long while since I’d had a hug, and it felt right good.

  He let me go and smiled, showing the lines of age on his face. He had a nice face though, and it reminded me of my daddy

  Uncle Dallas helped me into the wagon and put my box in the back.

  “Now, I’m mighty sorry I wasn’t here a bit earlier. Your aunt Esther wanted to come, but she’s been feeling poorly. She’ll have my hide when she finds out I was late.”

  “I didn’t mind,” I lied, settling onto the hard wooden wagon seat. “And we don’t even have to tell Aunt Esther.”

  Uncle Dallas laughed and clicked to his old white horse, “Get home, Buster.” Buster shook his mane and started off in the direction he’d come. We rolled past a few dark double-story buildings before entering a wooded area. The tall trees nearly cut out the moonlight.

  “Esther thought you might be hungry, so she sent this,” Uncle Dallas said, handing me a big piece of brown wrapping paper.

  “Thank you,” I said, tearing apart the wrapping to find a huge ham sandwich. I wolfed it down. The soft bread and sweet ham on my tongue tasted like the sandwiches Mama used to make for Saturday lunch with Daddy.

  Uncle Dallas raised one eyebrow at my horrible manners and handed me a Mason jar filled with apple cider. “Didn’t they feed you on that train?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” I said, trying to remember to mind my manners. And then, because I was afraid to wait any longer, I said softly, “They didn’t have a privy either.”

  Uncle Dallas stopped the wagon beside a stand of trees. “Watch out for critters,” he suggested.

  I looked at the trees for a minute before I figured out that I was supposed to go there. I was so glad to go, I didn’t even worry about snakes or skunks or such. Even so, I scrambled back into the wagon as quickly as I could. Uncle Dallas clicked Buster on our way. Uncle Dallas drove in peaceful silence. I was grateful he didn’t talk. I didn’t want to talk about Mama being dead. The buzz of the cicadas kept us company.

  It seemed like we drove forever into the night before we turned down a dirt driveway and Uncle Dallas said, “Whoa” to Buster.

  In the moonlight I saw the house. Every window was dark except one downstairs. A huge porch ran the whole length of the front and a swing creaked in the evening breeze.

  A bird or a bat flew up past the attic window. The night sky overflowed with stars. I’d never seen so many at once. I looked around and it was completely dark everywhere. There were no neighbors close by that I could see. Always before I’d had neighbors within shouting distance. I felt so far away from everything, so tiny compared with the huge sky.

  Inside, the house smelled old. Older than Aunt Helen’s. Older than my school building. Older than the church Mama and I had gone to for as long as I could remember.

  The kitchen didn’t have much in it but a worn oak table and chairs, a huge wood-burning stove, a hutch, and a dry sink. The coal oil lantern cast an amber glow over the room.

  “I told Aunt Esther not to wait up. You’ll meet her in the morning when she’s rested,” Uncle Dallas told me.

  “It’s a nice house,” I said in a squeaky whisper.

  Uncle Dallas smiled. “It’s home. Your home now too.”

  I followed Uncle Dallas and the lantern up the tiny back staircase. The wooden stairs creaked, and darkness crept all around me. I felt like a tiny dot of light in a river of blackness. Uncle Dallas sat the lantern on a night table and pointed to a tall bed. “Good night,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of the lantern later.”

  “Good night and thank you,” I whispered back. He left me the lantern and my cardboard suitcase before disappearing into the dark hall. I hurried into my nightgown and jumped under the heavy quilt before the shadows could get me. The feather bed swallowed me up. I was so tired, I fell fast asleep.

  Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke with a start. It was blacker than Aunt Helen’s cellar. Something had awakened me, but I didn’t know what. I heard a shuffling sound and smelled something terrible. Not an old smell. It was a rotten food smell that turned my stomach. To me, it smelled like death. Did this happen to people before they died? Did they smell death? Did death come to get you like a horrible stinking hand in the dark?

  3

  Aunt Esther

  I dove deeper under the covers, squeezing my eyes shut. My throat tightened, so I didn’t think I could scream even if I tried. I pulled the pillow over my head to block out the sounds and smells, the sounds and smells of death.

  I guess it worked because the next thing I knew morning came in through my window. Death had passed me by.

  “Good morning, my Lillie Mae,” a soft voice said.

  “Mama!” I shouted, throwing off my covers and sitting bolt upright.

  But it wasn’t Mama. It was a tiny woman no bigger than my old friend Melissa K. Reynolds, who was taller than me but not by much. Sunlight from the window framed the woman’s hair like a halo. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s just your aunt Esther.”

  “Oh,” I said, slumping down. I don’t know what I’d been thinking. How could Mama be here? She was dead, after all. Still, for a moment Aunt Esther had sounded like Mama and it had been so sweet.

  Aunt Esther moved slowly around the bed, picking my dress up off the floor, where I’d laid it last night, not knowing what else to do with it. It embarrassed me that I hadn’t done the right thing. Aunt Esther patted the bureau and put my dress on top. “After breakfast you can put your things in here,” she said.

  Remembering that I was a guest, I hopped out of bed and curtsied. “Thank you. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  Aunt Esther raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You’re quite welcome, but remember, you’re family, so there’s no need to stand on ceremony
at Whistler’s Hollow.”

  “Whistler’s Hollow?” I asked.

  Aunt Esther nodded. “That’s the nickname this farm has had for as long as I can recall.”

  “It’s a nice name,” I said politely, thinking it was the strangest name I’d ever heard. I wondered what kind of people would name a farm something so funny.

  “Come down for breakfast as soon as you’re dressed,” Aunt Esther told me.

  Aunt Esther stood at the stove turning flapjacks as I came down the steps. Uncle Dallas poured coffee from a blue metal pot into three cups on the table. Steam whirled toward his white head. I noticed the yellow-and-white checked kitchen curtains and the way the sun filled the warm room with a lemony glow.

  Aunt Esther smiled at me and wiped her hands on her apron—something I knew Aunt Helen would not have liked. All my life Aunt Helen had told me what a lady should and shouldn’t do. But Aunt Helen had never put her arms around me and hugged me like Aunt Esther did just then. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said. “We have flapjacks, sausage, eggs, biscuits, blackberry jelly, and coffee.”

  “Esther thinks I brought home an army last night to feed, instead of one beautiful young lady,” Uncle Dallas teased.

  “There’s nothing wrong with having a good breakfast,” Aunt Esther said, leaning her hand onto the table for support.

  Uncle Dallas guided her into a chair. “You take it easy now, Esther. I’ll get the grub.” He whistled and flipped the flapjacks into the air.

  “This one is yours, Lillie Mae,” Uncle Dallas said. “Lift your plate up.”

  I’d been taught to mind, so I held my plate up. Uncle Dallas tossed the flapjack my way.

  “Dallas Worth!” Aunt Esther shrieked. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Uncle Dallas laughed when I caught the flapjack as if I did it every day. “I’ve never missed a plate yet,” Uncle Dallas crooned.

  Aunt Esther bent her head down, trying to hide a smile. “Lillie Mae’s going to think she’s landed in the home for crazy old people.”